


Goretober Day 8: Control

by GrassyOrchards



Series: Gore/Inktober 2020 [7]
Category: The Evil Within (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Hurt, M/M, Manipulation, Mind Control, Mind Manipulation, Seb Suffers as per Usual
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-11
Updated: 2020-10-11
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:08:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26945704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GrassyOrchards/pseuds/GrassyOrchards
Summary: *Repost from Goretober oneshot masterpost*"Sebastian's head was a mess. It was an unnecessary observation to make really, in this place everyone's mental faculties were being poked, prodded and displayed like twisted art pieces. But it was an observation he was made more aware of with every passing minute"*To be expanded after October
Relationships: Sebastian Castellanos/Ruben "Ruvik" Victoriano
Series: Gore/Inktober 2020 [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1966237
Comments: 4
Kudos: 25





	Goretober Day 8: Control

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FreelancerRiley](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FreelancerRiley/gifts).



Sebastian's head was a mess. It was an unnecessary observation to make really, in this place everyone's mental faculties were being poked, prodded and displayed like twisted art pieces. But it was an observation he was made more aware of with every passing minute. After torching the four armed monster (Laura) there was a gentle prodding, a low headache that only seemed to amplify as time went on. Memories he hadn't thought of in years springing to the surface, pointless drivel he heard from drunkards, his daughter's favourite board games, the time he skinned his knee chasing after a stray cat-Inconsequential little things that did not matter in the long run. They sprouted up inconveniently, when his pistol was drawn steady to shoot, mangled hands scrabbling at his throat. Focus was already hard in a world where your landscape and enemies was always changing, it was made increasingly difficult with a raging headache. Invasive bittersweet memories made it near impossible. But Sebastian was a fighter. Being beaten down only meant he had to get up again, and he always got up. (For now) 

Quietly he shuffles behind an overturned taxi, side eyeing a Ruvik doppelganger who stands alert mere feet away from him when suddenly the pressure behind his eyes spikes. Wincing he is suddenly confronted with the memory of his awkward first kiss in highschool with a girl called Kacey. Her long blonde hair (Sebastian always seemed to have a thing for blonde's) past her shoulders and the smell of convenience store cologne. He comes to the conclusion his own mind was against him, trying to hide behind memories and long gone comforts. Using what had been so long ago as a flimsy shield against the horrors he now faced, leaving him to sweep up the aftermath. 

He needed to clear his head, kick back, take an ibuprofen, chase it with a glass of whiskey and take a nap. (Can't sleep). His old beaten armchair sounded great right now. Fantasizing of melting into its plush embrace he can nearly feel it, warm and inviting, the rough texture of cigarette burns across the right arm from long before Myra had ever even known his name. Yet she scolded him for it anyways. He forgets a moment that the chair is long since ash and dust, like most things he has ever held dear. The bitter aftertaste of whiskey rises, and he punctuates it with the sharp tang of led through rotten skulls.

Stumbling into the small room bathed with light and gentle music he feels disheveled, something lesser standing before the cracked mirror. The haunted were something he could take on with gritted teeth and bullets, but the long buried thoughts currently haunting his head took a strength he had never mastered. A weakness that led him to bottles, the kind of weakness Joseph watched overcome him with sad, sad eyes. He doesn't want to think, doesn't want to remember. So he grits his teeth and presses on anyways, his greatest defense mechanism being perseverance over everything. No matter how little of him was left he kept going. (Until there was nothing)

He is disappointed to find that embracing the light doesn't change the status of his migraine. Blinking and staring up to the corkboard of nameless newspapers and clippings he pauses, breathes, and slowly allows the tension to leave his shoulders. This place was safe. For mere minutes while he stayed he could relax, leave his gun holstered and simply ride out the worst of his migraine(it was so much more than a simple headache). He glances behind the desk, but the nurse is still missing. He is utterly alone. Good.

The hallways are ever dim and grungy, but he doesn't care about the state of the place. All he wants is the chair, its mysterious (highly questionable) enhancements, and brief piece. Perhaps a bunch of needles in his cranium will hit a nerve and sever the migraine that threatens to make him explode.

It creaks as he sits down, metallic pieces old and noisy with protest. He shifts, entirely unperturbed as the chair traps him, restraints snapping over his wrists and feet, effectively minimizing his movements. It stutters to a standstill, and for the first time in a long time he hesitates, and stares warily down the decrepit hallway. It's only now he realizes something is wrong. The ringing in his ears, it's not just the headache, it's-

The doors twist away, folding into themselves with painful silence as they disappear. Ruvik stands, staring down the hall and meeting Sebastian's eyes with an outstretched hand. He falters for only a moment before he's struggling, pushing and pulling at the restraints and _he should have known even this place wasn't safe._ As the thought tears through his mind Ruvik smirks, stepping forwards him slowly the same as he had in the elevator. He was really not in the mood for this. 

Entirely at his mercy (even more so than normal) he still glares. His jaw clenches, and his brows pull taught across his face. The throbbing behind his eyes left him in an already irritable mood, Ruvik's taunting entrance into the one place he had considered safe was _not_ the boost he needed. STEM was very quickly becoming the top contender of his shit list. Everytime he felt anything damn near relaxed or content it sucker punched him below the belt. When he got out of here he was going to do some nice relaxation therapy; taking a sledgehammer to every bathtub and wheelchair in Krimson City sounded like a nice start.

"Did you really think you were safe here, Seb?" Ruvik chides, shaking his head as he comes to a stop in front of him. His complexion is nearly ethereal here, dim lighting making the paleness of his skin seem to glow, tattered robe ever billowing in unseen breezes. If not for the cruel smirk and coldness in his eyes it would almost be angelic, but Sebastian knew far better than that. "This is my world, there is nowhere to hide, I can see _everything._ I know-"

"Get to the point already-What's with fuckers like you, always on your high horses with the monologuing and bullshit." Sebastian interrupts, glare hardening into unadulterated hatred and entirely done with everything that was being served to him. Ruvik pauses, and their eyes meet. A battle of glaciers and fire. 

The man clad in white leans in, raising his hand and holding it just over the skin of Sebastian's neck. He cranes away, grimacing, but the hand only chases him until he's leaning back, neck bent at an awkward angle as he tries to avoid being anywhere near him. Ruvik's smirk tilts, a mischeviousness rising that he really didn't appreciate. "Point is a choice word." The digit makes contact, and he does his best to repress his grimace as his skin splits open, a light cut tracing down as the finger drags a line along his neck down to the edge of his shirt. The sensation is pins and needles writhing in his skin, tearing the wound into his skin from the inside out. A quiet grunt of pain and anger escapes him as the hand draws back. 

He is disgusted to watch the fascination rise as Ruvik stares at the fresh wound, following the droplets of blood as they roll down the small patch of exposed skin and gather against the edge of his dress shirt. He was never wearing white again. The stains this place were leaving, he'd need to burn everything he owned to get rid of them. The smirk quickly falls, false neutrality rippling across burnt features. 

He can only watch with anxious anticipation as the opposer speaks again. "I've made an interesting discovery, Seb." There is no sneer, but the way the words are dropped on him, like he is scum, he can picture it perfectly. He leans forwards, sending fresh rivers of blood from his neck. He's practically a snarling animal without the feral growling. "While you had gained my interest for other purposes, it seems you are actually of greater use to me." 

He nearly flinches. The realization dawning far too late for a detective, but he could always blame the headache. Later, he would. Since his interruption, Ruvik hadn't opened his mouth once. He hadn't spoken. His words were _in his head._ And it seemed like a familiar sensation, the prodding and poking, the little voice, the tiny suggestions and pulls. (He was a marionettes doll)

"Ruvik what the hell-Get out of my-" The device slams over his head, partially obscuring his vision as the needles slam through his head. It's the same jolt as always, piercing and momentary agony, but with Ruvik here it was something worse. Something more twisted and cruel. It was unnecessary, but that was a plea that would get him nowhere. Unnecessary cruelties were a favourite of Ruvik's. 

"We are compatible." The monologue continues, and he would protest that sentiment if it wasn't pushing the headache down. He tries desperately to see, but can make out only glimpses of scar tissue and white between metal pieces. "They dragged you into this to be an obstacle, another force wishing to consume me. But all they did was send a preferable vessel." With every word the headache eased slowly, and he all but melts into the chair. If he just stays quiet for now maybe he can hold on for a second longer. That pressure had been building for so long, the momentary respite was something he would practically beg on his knees for now. Amusement he isn't quite sure is his ripples through him.

"Simple. Pavlovian response, you roll over like a dog when rewarded. Poor Seb, crashing through my world like a lion while hiding a quivering dog in your belly. You don't need to hide from me, I already _know_ you." His head is static, softly buzzing. He's not sure about much of anything in the moment, hardly registering the taunting words at all. Why was he so tired suddenly? He can't focus. How hadn't he noticed? If he had noticed would it have mattered?

He feels breath on his ear, as if Ruvik is whispering to him, but the words are still in his head. They almost come across as gentle, but he knows even his thoughts aren't his anymore "Let me in, submit to me, it will make all of this go so much smoother for the both of us. Fighting only hurts."

What was he even fighting for anymore?

The rain hits his face, draws across his brow and washes away the filth of this place. It's been so long since he's felt rain, properly at least. It never felt right after the fire, it had been a mockery more than anything. He feels a smile tug at his face, eyelids fluttering closed as drops of water coat his features further. His skin feels hypersensitive, fingertips twitching as they are gently pelted. There is a serenity, uniformity and a settled agreement that this was pleasant. For mere moments there is no conflict stirring in his belly, no tense muscles waiting to draw his gun. Yet his peace is interrupted by the slapping of footsteps, wet against the grass and concrete. They go ignored, until a familiar voice calls out, tentatively. "Sebastian?" 

He turns slowly, meets Joseph's eyes from a distance. Joseph is cautious, he can read something is wrong with him without even needing to be close. Leslie is in his grasp, shaking and twitching and murmuring something incomprehensible. Neither of them mattered anymore. His face torn between a bittersweet smile and a frown he turns, and numbly presses on further. Behind him Joseph cries out for him, but he keeps walking, bliss of the rain fading into a simmering pot of unwarranted anger. 

In a blink he's inside, another and he's down the hall. His legs keep moving confidently, but he wants to stop. His vision feels hazy, and quite suddenly he feels ill. There is no external tick, no frown or even a quick downward twitch of his lips. He is stoic as he moves, face drawn taught with indifference. But he is filled with fire, an innate need to stop. 'No' .His body continues, and soon he feels weightless. 

Everything is warped, there is a pressure building in his head again, behind his eyes, and it is growing rapidly. It hammers against him, rising from a low ache to a burning agony unlike anything he had ever felt even here. Time is false, space is false, his body is false, he is false. It feels like someone is digging knives into him, splitting him apart and digging in, invasive. Unwanted. 

The weight of his body crashes into him suddenly, and all the pain and dissociation he felt fades. Sebastian stumbles, catching himself on the edge of one of the bathtub like devices. He blinks, vision sharp and finally fully in his control. He flicks his gaze to the side, quickly reeling himself back together again. This was STEM.

His head feels fuzzy. He almost feels sick. Scratch that, he is sick. He clutches the white edge with an iron grip, swallows thickly as the ever brief momentary illusion of control is shattered. With every blink he's less sure of who or what or where he is. Agony sears through his mind, his gut, and he's not too sure he's even alive anymore. He's at the STEM terminal, he's in a land of flesh and barbed wire, he's alone, he's surrounded, he's human, he's monster, he's in control, he's not. He's Sebsatian Castellanos.

He walks forwards, falls into the stiff embrace of Ruvik, and fades away into nothing.

He's Ruben Victoriano.

**Author's Note:**

> I genuinely thought I was only 1 day behind idk how I lost like 3 days here goD


End file.
